


What she needs

by orphan_account



Series: Pant-bustin' crush [3]
Category: The Losers (2010)
Genre: Comfort Sex, Depression, F/M, Fuckbuddies, Plot What Plot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-04-06
Updated: 2012-04-06
Packaged: 2017-11-03 04:21:30
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,205
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/377141
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Once in a while, Aisha hates her own twisted worldview. Jake knows how to take care of her.</p>
            </blockquote>





	What she needs

Aisha doesn't love Jake, any more than she loves Clay or Cougar. She comes to them when she wants, where she wants, and on her terms.

She also doesn't try to compete with or replace any of them; she has her own role to play, mainly because her worldview is twisted just far enough for her to think of actions and moves that wouldn't occur to the others. They respect each other, put up with each other, have each others' backs. That's good enough for her...ninety-nine per cent of the time.

The moments when she hates her twisted worldview aren't frequent, but sometimes they build up like sand dunes against her confidence. What normal people might call a crisis of conscience. Everyone knows she can't afford to have a conscience.

When she can't stand it any more, she usually disappears for a day or so, spends money on herself at the movies or the bistro or the tables, and comes back to the team recovered from what she sees as an infrequent weakness. 

This has happened twice since they went in search of Max. The third time, it's too dangerous to leave the apartment they're using, hell, it's not smart to even get near a window. Aisha throws a fit and gets one of the three bedrooms to herself and barricades herself in, not caring whether anyone is muttering about PMS on the other side of the door. The door doesn't have a lock, but they all know she sleeps with a gun and a knife within reach.

The first night, Pooch makes a show of sliding a plate of food into the room, on the floor, through the smallest gap between door and wall, as if feeding something feral. After consuming everything on it, she yanks the door open just long enough to fling the plate out. It makes a satisfying crash, but produces no sounds of injury. She doesn't know if she's annoyed or glad about that.

The second night, she knows they're all stir crazy, from the sound of Clay pacing downstairs and Pooch and Cougar watching TV with the sound off and Pooch making up dialogue, a pastime unique to their forays into Asian countries. She can hear Cougar laugh.

When she realizes she's not hearing Jake at all, she feels slightly alarmed. Maybe he has the graveyard watch, she thinks, and he's just waking up. Maybe he's listening to his headphones and managing not to break into song.

Maybe that's him easing her door open and sidling into the room with his hands up and his best "don't hurt me" smile.

"Thanks," he says quietly, closing the door as she lowers the gun and lays it back on the nightstand.

"For not shooting you?"

"For not pointing it at my dick," he says, a familiar crack. She smiles for the first time in days.

"Yeah, well, it has its uses..." she retorts. "Your dick, I mean."

Jake comes over and sits on the bed beside her.

"You're not going to make me talk about my <i>feelings</i>, are you?" she asks, frowning. Jake looks appalled.

"Hell, no," he says. "One, I have a Y chromosome, did you notice? And two, I don't want to talk about my feelings, if any, so yours are safe from me."

"So, what do you want?" She folds her arms; she thinks she knows where this is going.

"It's not what you think," he says, but then men always say that. "I just wanted to see...that you're okay," he goes on, hesitantly. "I mean, you're not binge drinking or overdosing or suicidal...or anything. You're not, are you?"

He stands up and rubs his palms down the sides of his pants, answers his own babbling with more babbling.

"No, of course you're not. Good. Sorry. Going now. But if there's anything you need..."

Before he can make his escape, Aisha grabs his hand and he freezes, looking down at her. She searches his face for a long minute, then says simply, "Stay."

His expression goes from nervous teenager to sober young man and he sits down again beside her. She holds his hand and leans her head on his shoulder, and after a while he dares to kiss the top of her head.

They talk a little about the current situation, what they'll be doing once they get out of this particular mess, the next move to destroy Max. Eventually she's stretched out on her back with her feet in Jake's lap while he gives them a hard massage. The sun is going down and when he comes back from washing his hands in the tiny bathroom, the room is lit only by streetlights filtering in through a high window.

He comes to sit on the bed and smiles, not the goofy smile or the wicked smile, just a rare moment of relaxation.

"Are you on watch?" she asks and he shakes his head.

"Nope, did my shift already. Cougar's on for now. Guess I'll go see what Pooch and Clay are up to."

Once more he gets up to leave. Once more she says, "Stay," sitting up and taking his hand and adding, "Please."

Jake turns, more slowly this time, but doesn't let go of her hand. He turns it over, comes closer, lays her palm on his chest. Holds it there like a tether while he unbuttons his shirt with the other hand, and once he's undone a couple she slides her hand underneath, over taut skin and softer fuzz down the line of his belly.

He finishes with the buttons, takes off the shirt and lays it over the chair. Then he sits on the bed again, her hand still stroking up over his chest, and starts on the buttons on her shirt.

Before now Aisha has always made the first move; with Jake it's usually something more like a command. He responds so well to commands. This time she isn't making any, and he doesn't seem to need any. His fingers are gentle and unhurried, opening and tugging her shirt off her shoulders and only then bending his head to kiss her.

His mouth is soft and not at all pushy, like he could wait all day for a response. Aisha doesn't expect this kind of patience, though in the back of her mind it makes sense, as technology doesn't respond well to rushing, and neither does she, unless she's in the mood for it.

She closes her eyes and lets her lips slide over his, lets him trace her mouth with the tip of his tongue, notes that his hands are at rest on her hips, not going after the rest of her clothing or her bra, not even touching the edge of her panties peeking up over her hip-huggers.

He speaks, whispering against her lips.

"You're not ticklish, are you?"

Her lips smile back at him and she forms the word no. The pads of his fingers start to move, just following the upper edge of her underwear, like he's connecting dots, then his hands span almost all the way around her waist and glide up, to stop just under the elastic of her bra.

Aisha's mouth opens to let him explore, which he does, but still gently, and she lays her hands on his neck and drags them down over his torso and arms. Her hands follow the bend of his elbows and wrists, then reach back to unhook her bra and let it fall into her lap.

His hands don't move, but the kiss deepens. He doesn't seem to be teasing her, just taking things excruciatingly slow.

"Jake," she surfaces to say. "Jake, what - "

"Shh," he says before capturing her mouth again. One hand comes up to cradle the back of her head, the other hand on the bed beside her as he leans a little sideways and she wraps her arms around his shoulders. When his lips release hers he trails his tongue along her jaw, her throat, along her collarbone, the hand on the back of her head moving smoothly down her back as she sits and he sinks down on one elbow.

His head dips to kiss the top of her breast and she arches a bit, trying to bring her nipple to his mouth. He draws back slightly, just out of range, tilts his head to rub the tip of his nose in a slow circle around the swell of her breast.

When he opens his mouth over her nipple she stills, then moans when all he does is breathe over it, dodging again when she tries to maneuver. He leans back a bit and his hand leaves her back; she thinks he might starting touching her breast at last, but instead he takes off his glasses and reaches to set them on the nightstand.

He looks up into her eyes while shifting to lie beside her on the bed. Aisha lies back, waiting for his next move, which is to take her hand and bring it to the snap on his jeans.

It takes both her hands to get them undone, snap and zipper pulled open and left open, then her hands sweep up to sink into his hair at the touch of his tongue on her nipple. Soft, wet, sweet, and this, God, this is what she needs, tenderness, not pyrotechnics or wrestling or submission. Sweet Jake and his mouth and hands, Jake who knows how to touch her without any direction, Jake who doesn't love her but who cares enough to take his time.

He shucks off his jeans and briefs she's amused to see that he's wearing underwear for a change ("I save it for special occasions," he'd said). When he shifts down, still beside her, he pulls down her jeans and panties as well, his mouth pressing lightly against her skin here and there as it moves between her breasts, over her ribs and abdomen. Jake lifts one of her thighs and she raises and spreads her legs and almost holds her breath, trying not to move, to let him do what he wants to her.

He kisses both sides of her mound and then presses his tongue between them, sinking in deep, then slowly bringing the tip up to touch her clitoris, and she makes a sound that's almost a sob when he pulls his mouth away.

"You taste so good," he murmurs, coming up over her on all fours, and he shows her how good, his kiss deep and long. Aisha hears paper tearing and feels his weight shift, and when they separate she sees that he's already applied a condom.

"Damn, you're talented," she grins and he actually blushes, a little.

"Where it counts, I guess," he agrees. Now he stretches out on his elbows and gets comfortable between her bent knees, and she thinks he's going to enter her now but instead he shifts to lay his sheathed cock between her pussy lips, gently moving up and down, sliding far too lightly over her clit.

"Fucking tease," she groans and Jake grins and rolls his hips, unrepentant.

"Yes, on both counts," he tells her.

For a man who seems so loopy and random elsewhere, his control now is impressive. He kisses her while she gets hotter and wetter and he keeps the same slow pace between her legs, lowering his body enough for her to get her arms around him, groping over his shoulders and back.

She's getting close.

"Jake," she gasps. "Fuck me, Jake, come inside..."

He simply shakes his head and rocks just a little faster, a little harder, and she bucks up against his cock and grinds and groans and clutches at him while he drops his head on her shoulder and wraps his arms all the way around her.

Once she's come down a little, she tilts her hips up, encouraging, and he asks, "You want to be on top?"

Aisha shakes her head this time. She wants him above her, covering her with his body like a shield; she wants him to overwhelm her, take her, lose himself in her. She reaches down to guide him and he slides in, into a passage that's still throbbing and drenched and ready for more.

Jake starts to thrust, almost too strong a word for it, more like rocking her. She holds on to him, tight, kissing and caressing, sensing her own arousal rising again and feeling the moment when Jake starts to lose it. His mouth is half open and his eyes are fixed on hers; when she whispers, "I'm coming," he makes a choked kind of cry and his rhythm stutters and she feels him pulsing inside her just as she hits her peak as well.

She falls asleep with her cheek against his warm fuzzy chest. When she wakes up he's gone; she can hear him downstairs giving Pooch some shit about losing TV reception.

After she showers and dresses and comes out of her self-imposed prison, she goes down to join them. There are no meaningful glances or surreptitious touches between her and Jake. But she knows now, how she'll make it through, next time.


End file.
